Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,6

even have an accurate count of the missing.

I motioned for a refill and tried a different approach. "Been talk of a wolf in the swamp, too."

"I saw a wolf on Jackson Square."

I blinked. "In town?"

The old guy nodded

"You're sure?"

Wolves definitely didn't venture into highly populated areas - unless they were completely whacked.

"If ye don't believe me, ask Jay." He flicked a finger toward a young man who was quietly consuming a huge hamburger at the other end of the bar. "He works the Square."

"Works?" I eyed Jay. He was cute enough, but I couldn't see him trolling the streets.

"Po-lice."

Well, that made more sense.

I resisted the urge to rub my hands together in glee. An off-duty police officer. What could be more convenient?

If a werewolf walked right into Kelly's, but I wasn't going to wait around for that to happen.

"Was there a wolf in Jackson Square?" I asked.

Officer Jay looked up from his plate. "No."

I turned to the old man.

"I saw it," he mumbled.

"Folks see strange things around here every night," Officer Jay explained.

"Like what?"

Standing, he tossed some money onto the counter. "New Orleans is the most haunted city in America, and there's a reason for it"

"Ghosts?"

"Booze, drugs, loud music." He headed for the door. "Messes with the head."

A few moments later I said my good-byes, then meandered down a quiet, dark side road in the direction of Bourbon Street. Within minutes I had the distinct impression I wasn't alone.

Perhaps one of the ghosts had decided to follow me home. Or maybe it was just a mugger. I'd almost welcome the opportunity to kick some low-life ass after allowing myself to be embarrassingly manhandled by -

Who?

I paused and could have sworn whatever lurked behind me paused, too. How's that for paranoid?

I glanced to the left, the right, the rear, and saw nothing but shadows. So I walked faster, and as I did, I distinguished a clackety-clack, like nails tapping on a desk. Or claws clicking along the pavement.

Now I was really losing my mind.

Heated breath brushed my thighs, a growl rumbled the air, and my heart stuttered. I was afraid to turn, afraid of what I would see, or not see.

Up ahead, someone had left open the gate to a private courtyard. I pretended to head past, then ducked in.

Something scooted by, something low to the ground and furry. I was so amazed, I scrambled forward to get a better look and caught my toe in a crack.

My knees hit the pavement, men my hands. I waited, expecting hot breath to brush my face instead of my thighs.

Nothing happened.

I climbed to my feet, using the wall for support, and stepped onto the street. A car whooshed past Laughter drifted on the wind. A dog barked, but the sidewalk was deserted.

Except for the man who lounged against the building a block away. Beyond him lights flashed, music pulsed, people danced in the street. His bicep flexed as he leaned forward to light the tip of the cigarette just visible beyond the long, dark fall of his hair.

I started to run as he slid around the corner. By the time I reached Bourbon Street, all that remained was the milling crowd.

That night I dreamed someone climbed onto my balcony. I'd left the French doors open. I'd known he would come.

He moved to the bed with the grace of an animal. His eyes were so blue, they made me gasp, even before he reached out a rough, calloused hand and touched me.

In the dream I saw him, and he was beautiful. Full lips, sharp cheekbones, long eyelashes - an aristocrat's face and a workingman's body. No man of leisure would ever possess scarred ringers, bulging muscles, or tanned skin.

Naked he stood above me, the faint silver light shining across the ladder of his ribs, a taut, rippling abdomen. The desire to trace my fingers along the flow, feel the heat and the strength, press my mouth to those ridges, then move lower and taste him, nearly overwhelmed me.

"Goddess of de hunt, moon, and night," he murmured, his voice spilling down my skin like a waterfall.

I wanted to lose myself in that voice, in him.

The bed dipped. He did things I'd only imagined, whispered suggestions in a language I didn't understand. I cried out, "Loup-garou," and the breathy, hoarse rasp awoke me.

A breeze fluttered the curtains. No wonder I'd had a nightmare. Heat poured in, along with the rumble of the party that still rocked the street below.

I got out of bed, slammed the French